Sunday, March 27, 2016

Barbara
and Pauline had a cat named Buddy. He had been with them for a long time and
was like the third member of their family. Once after they had been away on a
trip, as they were returning home they saw something on the side of the road
that made their hearts sink. It was a dead cat. And it looked a lot like Buddy.

They
pulled over and got a closer look only to see that it was their beloved Buddy
the cat. So they wrapped his dead body in a blanket, brought him home and
buried him, shedding more than a few tears at the loss of their precious
friend.

The
next day, Pauline and Barbara were out in the yard and they saw a cat come
walking up their driveway. Sure enough, it was Buddy the cat. Apparently they
had buried the wrong cat.

It made
me think of all the times I get myself all worked up over something that seems to
me like the end of the world, only to discover that it wasn’t the end of the
world at all.

I imagine
that might have been the way the women felt when they went to the tomb. These
were not the sniveling little disciples who ran like scared rabbits when the
going got tough. These were the faithful, courageous disciples of Jesus who didn’t
leave his side even as he died on the cross. They followed those who took Jesus’
body and saw where they laid it. Early in the morning while the whole world was
sleeping, they took their spices and returned to the tomb to honor the body of
the one they loved. Even in death, they couldn’t abandon him.

When
they arrived at the tomb, the stone was rolled back and they went inside. But
the body was gone. Where was he? What happened? And then suddenly two men in
dazzling clothes appeared. The women, of course, were scared out of their wits.
And what did the men have to say to them? Something that strikes me as rather
odd, under the circumstances. “Why do you look for the living among the dead?
He is not here, but has risen. Remember how he told you, when he was still in
Galilee, that the Son of Man must be handed over to sinners, and be crucified,
and on the third day rise again.”

This
shouldn’t come as a complete surprise to you, women. Don’t you remember what he
told you? Well, if you need any proof that these women were really disciples of
Jesus, here it is. Don’t you remember what he told you? Yes, they remembered.
Because they were there. They heard Jesus tell them about his death and
resurrection. They remembered.

And
suddenly all the pieces were falling into place. Yes, this happened exactly as Jesus
had told them it would. He hadn’t been speaking metaphorically. It really
happened. He was crucified; they saw it happen. He died; they saw it happen. And
he was buried; they saw it happen. And
now he’s been raised from the dead.

They
had been stumbling through a graveyard in the dark, and suddenly they were
running swiftly, leaping over gravestones with wings on their feet to tell
their friends the good news.

Perhaps
you can understand what it means to stumble through a graveyard in the dark, to
walk the way of death. It’s easy to get caught there.

·Maybe
you’re so disheartened by the political process, or ISIS or climate change that
you’ve lost all hope in humanity.

·Maybe
you’re mired down in depression after the underhanded way our elected leaders
in North Carolina have voted in favor of discrimination.

·Maybe
you’ve received news of an illness that threatens to seriously alter your life.

·Maybe
you’ve been so disappointed by someone or something that you’re finding it hard
to trust again.

·Maybe
you're feeling trapped in a situation that is bringing only misery to your life and
you can’t see any way out of it.

·Maybe
you’re replaying the same destructive pattern in your life over and over so
that it feels like it’s holding you captive.

·Maybe
you’re grieving a loss that has taken away so much of you that you can’t
imagine you’ll ever be whole again.

·Maybe
you’re having a crisis of faith and you wish with all your heart that you could
believe what your head tells you couldn’t possibly be true.

That’s
what it means to stumble through a graveyard in the dark.

And
yet, you’re here today. You came to gather with other people who have done
their share of stumbling around in the dark, too.

Because we’re all here to
remember. To remember the teachings of a man who showed us the way to life,
real life, abundant life, what some Biblical writers call eternal life. A life
that is found, not by amassing great fortune or by proving that you’re a winner
in a world filled with losers. It’s a life that’s only found in denying the
twisted, self-centered values of the world around us and taking up a life of
compassion and mercy. We’re here to remember the life of a man who practiced
this truth at every turn, even when it took him to a cross. We remember the
death of the one who forgave those who unjustly executed him. And we remember
his resurrection to new life.

We’re
here today because we know that despite the fact that we may find ourselves
stumbling through a graveyard in the dark, we remember where to look for the
living. Among God’s faithful people. Singing hymns. Praying prayers. Hearing
the word proclaimed. Sharing in a meal where out host reminds us that every
time we eat the bread and drink the cup, it is an act of remembering. “Do this
to remember me,” Jesus said.

We’re
here because we know we can never find life by stumbling around a graveyard in
the dark. We look for life among the living.

Wednesday, March 23, 2016

At Holy Trinity we gathered outside the building for the
Blessing of Palms and then processed into the nave singing a raucous two-part
song that filled the space with electricity. It was noisy, much
like I imagine the streets of Jerusalem were as Jesus made his grand entrance with crowds
cheering and branches waving. But just as the tone of Jesus’ final week quickly
shifted, so did the tone of our worship on Sunday.

On Passion Sunday, we have developed the practice of
listening to the entire passion narrative presented as a readers’ theater at
the very end of worship. Then we have a brief confession and depart in
silence. It’s always powerful when an entire congregation, including restless
kids, walks out of the building in complete silence.

This year, between the reading of Luke’s Passion and the
confession of our own complicity in the crucifixion of Jesus, Lonnie was with
us to sing, “Were you there when they crucified my Lord…” Lonnie has a powerful
voice that you have to hear to believe. He is a well-known expert in African
American spirituals and sings from the heart, like someone who truly believes
every word coming from his mouth. His rendering of “Were You There” brought chills to
my spine and tears to my eyes.

What many people at Holy Trinity don’t realize is that when Lonnie was a small child in Louisiana, he was forced to witness the death of a man hung
from a tree at the hands of a lynch mob. That man was his father.

Just
let that sink in for a while.

Most Christians can get their head around the idea that we were there when they
crucified our Lord, so our confession at the end of worship was embraced by all
who were present on Sunday.

Judas, slave of jealousy,
where are you?

I am here.

Peter, slave of fear,
where are you?

I am here.

Thomas, slave of doubt,
where are you?

I am here.

Men and women of
Jerusalem, enslaved to mob rule, where are you?

I am here.

Pilate, slave of
expediency, where are you?

I am here.

We understand that we didn’t have to actually be present to be complicit in the crucifixion
of Jesus. We can identify with the guilt of humanity. Some people call this the doctrine of Original Sin. To me it means that sin is a part of what it means to be human, it's inescapable, and we have to face that hard truth about ourselves.

But I wonder if the majority of Americans, who
happen to consider themselves white, can comprehend our complicity in the Original Sin of our nation, the sin of slavery? Can we begin to confess the way
we have systematically tortured and killed those who were stolen from their
homes and brought to this country as a commodity to be traded and sold like
investments on Wall Street? Can we recognize how the American Dream that we
hold dear excludes so many of those who have fought for and built our nation at
the cost of their own bodies? Can we admit our own moments of judging the
actions of others based on the prejudices we carry about their race?
Can we acknowledge the racism that has become so much a part of who we are that
it has become invisible to us?

I was having lunch with a group of friends and
one of them remarked about how tired she is of hearing about racism. Now that the
“Black Lives Matter” movement had made its point, it’s time for us all to move
on. (Did I mention that this friend is white?) She’s a good person who often advocates for the poor and the marginalized, so I was
surprised to hear her say this. And yet, I know many other white people who
consider themselves above racism share her feelings. All this talk of racism is
making them weary.

What a luxury it is for us to decide when racism
is a topic that has become old for us and we’re ready to move on. The mother who worries every time her young black son leaves the house that he might be
shot has no such luxury. The black children who drive by gated, affluent suburbs
filled with McMansions and well-manicured lawns and then return home to neighborhoods riddled by crumbling buildings and drug deals happening on every street corner have no
such luxury. The young man who has been incarcerated for the same crime that can be dismissed easily for a person with the right color skin has no such luxury.

Where
You There. I will never hear that song again without thinking about
Lonnie’s father and the countless people in our country who have been lynched
at the hands of a hate filled crowd. Like Jesus, they have been victims of a system
that seems to only find security by identifying “the other” to hate, fear and destroy.

Were you there, sisters and brothers of mine who
self-identify as white? We hear the words to the song with some understanding that, yes,
we were there when Jesus was crucified, and we beat our breasts in contrition. I wonder how we can be so
moved by the cross and yet so indifferent to Michael Brown, Eric Garner, Trayvon
Martin and those who are crucified in our midst?

Tuesday, March 15, 2016

Last Friday, when I heard that Donald Trump would be speaking at
Lenoir-Rhyne University, which is an institution of the Evangelical Lutheran
Church in America, I was livid. Then I learned how institutions of higher
learning make themselves available to all political candidates in the interest
of a free exchange of ideas. So, Mr. Trump decided to speak at L-R. Okay. Well,
it was not okay, really. But I understood why L-R allowed it to happen.

As it turned out, as enraged as many of us were, it
gave us Lutherans an opportunity to bear witness to Jesus, so I’m glad it
happened. After a bit of Facebook messaging with our NC bishop, Tim Smith,
plans were underway for a peaceful demonstration at the event. I was going to
be away for the weekend. The last thing I did before walking out the door was
post a FB event and get the invitations going. The first thing I did when I
returned home, before I unpacked my bags, was print off 35 signs to take to the
rally on Monday.

They were simple signs. None of them bashed Donald
Trump. That wasn’t our intent. We were gathering on Monday morning to lift up
the teachings of Christ, which happen to be antithetical to the teachings
of Donald Trump. Most of the signs were Bible verses: “God is Love”, “Do
justice – Love kindness – Walk humbly with God”, “Do not neglect to show
kindness to strangers”, “As you did if for the least of these…”

I didn’t know what to expect as I traveled through the
dense fog to Hickory early Monday with my friends Dick and Cherie. Would many be there to stand with our bishop? Would we succeed in bringing a
peaceful presence to the gathering? Would anyone even notice us?

The auditorium where Trump spoke seats about 1,400
people. They gave out over 4,000 free tickets. When we arrived, people were
standing in a line that snaked all through the campus. Pockets of protesters were
scattered here and there. Pastors in collars were starting to arrive. I quickly
distributed all the signs I brought and saved one for myself that said: “BRIDGES
NOT WALLS.”

In the end, approximately 300 Lutherans gathered that
day to show those who had come to the Trump rally what it means to follow
Jesus. Some came from as far away as Nashville and Atlanta. A group of students
and professors from our seminary in Columbia joined us. About 100 of us were
wearing clergy collars. We sang hymns about love, grace, and justice, over and
over, until we were just about hoarse.

Because of the fog, Trump was two hours late in
arriving. When folks standing in line were finally told they weren’t going to get in,
things got tense. The grassy area that had separated protesters from supporters
slowly melted away and angry people on both sides were standing face to face, shouting
obscenities, ready to exchange blows. Those of us wearing collars were called
upon to hold the line. We linked arms and did just that, standing between anger
and anger. One of us started singing “Jesus
Loves YOU” and we all joined in.

I read a Facebook post from someone who was there. The
person wrote:

“…out of nowhere, a red-haired redneck started screaming at the Latinos. They were nice back, but a black group then jumped in to their defense and it got ugly, with a lot of profanity. I was in the middle of this and then a bit of shoving started. Before I knew it, about a dozen pastors jumped in and formed a line between the factions, locking arms and singing hymns. How I got in that line I don't know, but it was surreal, really a religious experience. These days, I am not really pro-organized religion, but I was daggum proud of them today- they really were the peacemakers...”

I know you didn’t see any of this on the news. But I’m telling you it happened.

I also spent some of my time mingling in the crowd. I talked to a group of young African American men who told me how they had tickets to go inside the event and they were turned away at the door. They were wearing nice clothes. They were respectful. And they knew there was only one reason why they were turned away. I don’t know for sure if any people of color were admitted to the rally, but according this this group of youth, none were.

After the rally ended I spoke to some of the people who had heard Trump speak, including an older white couple. The man was an Air Force veteran. “How was the speech?” I asked them. “Oh, he was so wonderful. I’m so glad we came!” “He didn’t talk very long, did he?” I asked. “No, but he has to get to Florida. They need to hear what he has to say down there.” I held up my BRIDGES NOT WALLS sign and said, “Well, I’m on the other side, but I’m glad you got to hear him.” They smiled.

I have no doubt that many of the 4,000+ who came to see Trump in Hickory self-identify as Christian. I wonder what they thought when they heard us singing traditional Christian hymns, when they saw us lifting up the Scriptures in our signs? Could they hear and see Jesus? Could they recognize the dissonance between the message of Jesus and the message of the one they came to hear speak that day?We ELCA Lutherans are often hard on ourselves because,
although our first name is Evangelical,
we don’t feel like we’re very good at living up to that name. I think a big
part of that is because we think that evangelism means walking up to strangers
and convincing them to accept Jesus as their personal Savior lest they die
today and end up in hell. We’ve allowed a certain flavor of Christianity to
define what it means to be evangelical for us. Actually, evangelism is sharing the
good news about Jesus. And, I don’t see a whole lot of good news in the scaring-the-hell-out-of-people
approach. The actions of the Lutherans gathered at Lenoir Rhyne on Monday were
about as evangelical as you can get. We were there to show people another Jesus
than the one they may have seen from those who use the name of Christ to invoke
fear, hatred and judgment.

I learned a lot on Monday. I
learned that there’s a whole lot of power in the collar I wear. I learned what
a gift our NC bishop is to the Church. And I learned that Lutherans can be
Evangelical in the best sense of the word.

Sunday, March 6, 2016

Today I was reminded again of the amazing contribution
children make to our worship life. I know I’m biased, but I have to tell you
that we have been blessed with extraordinary children at Holy Trinity. They
understand the gospel, particularly our mission of Loving Not Judging, in a way
that often seems to elude many of us adults.

The gospel lesson this morning was the story of two lost
sons from Luke’s gospel. The younger one is a snot-nosed little brat who runs off with his inheritance and ends up foolishly blowing every last penny. When
he comes to the point of starving, he decides it's time to return to his
father and plead for mercy. But he doesn’t get the chance. Instead, the father
greets him with open arms and is so thrilled to have him back that he throws him
an extravagant party.

The older son is the responsible one. Unlike his
brat of a brother, he stays home and helps his father with the family
business. When he sees the shameless way his father forgives his prodigal brother
and celebrates his return, the older son is justifiably ticked. This is an
outrage! There’s no way he's going to that party.

The parable of the prodigal brothers was preceded in
chapter 15 with two other stories that ended in parties after the lost had been
found. And here's how it all begins--what prompts Jesus to tell this trilogy of parables: “Now all the
tax collectors and sinners were coming near to listen to him. And the Pharisees
and the scribes were grumbling and saying, ‘This fellow welcomes sinners and
eats with them.’”

The sermon today was interactive. By that, I mean that, in
addition to sharing my own thoughts, I invited the congregation to share their
thoughts, too. After we had worked our way through the text together, I posed
the question: “Now, how does Luke 15 relate to the world around us, or even
your own personal world?”

Adults gave some thoughtful examples from the world of
politics and the workplace. Then Bailey, a fourth grader, raised his hand. I
looked at his parents who seemed to squirm a little as they had no idea what he
was going to say. I thought, it doesn’t really matter a whole lot what he has
to say; it’s just wonderful that he feels comfortable enough to join in the
conversation with the rest of the congregation.

I called on Bailey, and he told us
about how hard he works in school, and then sometimes someone will come along
who hasn’t worked at all and they end up winning, and it makes him mad. He was right on point. He understood
what it felt like to be the resentful older brother. Wow! (And I had assumed that
either, a. he wasn’t paying attention during the sermon, or b. it was all above
his head and he couldn’t possibly understand the meaning of the parable.)

Then Pearl, a fifth grader, had a story to share, too. She
told us about how she goes to gymnastics class, and she’s been trying to do a
handstand for a long time. A new guy came to their class because his mother
made him come, and he can do all kinds of stuff that Pearl can’t do, with no
effort at all. And the worst part for Pearl is that he doesn’t even want to be there. Well—to
use gymnastics lingo—Pearl nailed it!

I looked around at the congregation and we all knew that the presence of God was truly in our midst.

And I thought about how often we ignore children in worship, or
we relegate their significance to cute moments in a children sermon, and we don’t
take them seriously as members of the Body of Christ. When we do that, we’re missing out on Spirit-filled moments that
can transform us as a faith community and as individuals. Sages come in all ages, to be sure.

About Me

Nancy is an ordained pastor of the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America. She serves at Ascension Lutheran Church in Towson, Maryland. Nancy grew up in Hamilton, Ohio, and then served time at Bowling Green State University, before moving on to Trinity Seminary in Columbus. Starting out in North Dakota, she then returned to Ohio and served churches there before landing in North Carolina, where she served at two different congregations in Charlotte. She was also on the bishop's staff and earned a PhD from Pitt during her spare time in the area of religion and education. She considers herself an educator who happens to be a pastor and it makes a difference in how she does ministry. She is a divorce survivor, and the mother of two artsy-fartsy children who abandoned her when they became adults. Now she shares a home with Father Guido Sarducci, her tuxedo cat.